At a young age I had one dream, it was
the same thing I wished for every year when I blew out my birthday
candles. It's the one thing I asked Santa for every Christmas as long
as I believed in him. I wanted a family, a real family—a close
family—the type where I could talk to my mom about anything. Where
I had a brother or sister and we were super super close. The type
where we all took care of each other, and even though we had our
differences all of us would come together in a time of need.
I was 9 when I stopped wishing for
this. The reality of what I actually had was as good as it was going
to get, and I tried to make the best of it. Which in my world meant I
let my family use me for whatever they wished, and complained the
least I could. Holding onto the hopeful ideal that we could all grow
into the family of my dreams.
When you think about it I had, in some
sense, what I wanted. I had a mom, who liked to abuse me and let her
husband do whatever he wanted to me. A stepfather, who reminded me
daily I wasn't his child and would never be apart of his
family. A brother, who I loved and often got a long with, but if I
made him cry his father would come down on me. Also a sister, the
baby of the family. I like to think of her as my arch nemesis, there
really isn't any redeeming quality about my sister. From a young age
she was a royal pain in the ASS!
I know, it sounds like I am being a
jealous or annoyed older sister but hear me out. Most of you already
know the double standards that went on in my childhood, and Sam
benefited the most from it. While my brother was laid back and went
with the flow, Sam. . . Well, you know that kid in school that was an
awful person just to be an awful person. That sums up my sister.
Here are some examples of her behavior
before she even reached the second grade.
-Hitting me while I'm napping and then
getting me yelled at for yelling at her to stop, because she was
board.
-Turning off our brother's video game
right in the middle of a level because he won't play with her.
-Hiding toys in my bed and telling our
mother I stole them from her.
-Crying to her father that I yelled at
her when I didn't, which then got me in trouble.
-Hitting herself to make a mark when
she often got mad at me, then running to her dad so I would get in
big trouble.
The list goes on, and like I said this
was all before she reached the second grade. I often had her
screaming at me that her father would put me in jail (he was a cop),
or—the most hurtful thing she's ever said to me—“You don't have
a dad because no one loves you.”
Fat, stupid, idiot, dumb-ass, loser,
faggot—just a few names she called me, and here is the worst part
of all this. I wasn't allowed to fight back.
If I told on her I got in trouble for
being a tattle-teller. If I called her a name back or told her to
knock it off, I got in trouble for trying to boss her around. If I
told her to shut up, or hit her—yes I did try to hit her a few
times because I was a kid and that stuff happens—I got in even more
trouble because she would run and tell her dad. Who would in turn
yell at our mom, and then would yell and punish me.
By the time I reached the magic 13 I
learned to ignore her the best I could. I took her verbal and
physical abuse like I did with the adults. Sometimes it would anger
her even more and she would grab my arm and dig her nails in until I
would bleed, or find an object to hit me with. She even threatened
and abused my animals. My stuff. . . yeah, nothing was safe from
Sam's rage. I lost count how many stuffed animals she disemboweled,
or dolls she ripped the heads off. The number of CD's she snapped in
half and tapes she has unraveled in furry over my ignoring her.
Frankly there was no ignoring Sam. I lived in terror and anger at my
sister, and our mother's lack of care over the situation resulted in
pent up rage on my part.
Often, my anger at Sam was so intense I
had dreams of strangling her. I know, this makes me look awful, but
it's true (that's all I'll ever give here. The truth). As a teenager,
with raging hormones and repressed anger, I dreamed almost nightly
about strangling my sister. How messed up is that?
But it kept me from yelling at her,
calling her names, and hitting her when I often wanted to
Why am I recalling all this?
Well, I was watching a clip of little
kids overreacting to life and it triggered a bunch of hurtful
memories between me and my sister.
Our relationship was not what I wanted
between us, and I tried through everything to have a close and loving
bond with her. It never worked. Even through my rage at her actions
and abuse, I held onto the hope of her growing out of it—of us
becoming real sisters. I'm sad to say it never happened. I cut her
out of my life because I don't need manipulative, nasty people in my
life. She is also one of my top abusers. Yeah, a kid nearly seven
years younger abused the shit out of me. Laugh if you want, but it's
true and it happens a lot more often than people want to believe.
Today a memory popped into my head
while watching the clip. It was at one of my sister's birthday
parties, a bowling party. Man do I love to bowl, so a party was
awesome. I was there, so was my brother, along with my sister and all
her girlfriends. When it came time to set up lanes and what not Sam
got pissed off. She started pouting and crying, and hiding in the
bathroom. One of her classic tantrums.
After a long while Dani managed to get
her out of the bathroom and sat her down demanding to know what was
wrong. She yelled, at the top of her lungs, “I don't want Jackie to
bowl!”
Dani said, “she's not going to bowl
with you girls. She will be on her own lane with your brother, ect.”
Sam: “No! I don't want her to bowl at
all! I hate her!”
I hadn't done a single thing to her. In
fact I had been too busy helping Dani set up for the party that day.
Things like putting out the table clothes, making sure we had enough
plates for pizza and cake. Seeing all the gifts get to the right
table, and all the guests get their gift bags. Basically, catering to
my sister's every need for her party. Dani, told her what she said
wasn't nice, but Sam still refused to take part in her own party if I
got to bowl. Needless to say I didn't bowl that day, but more to the
point I was destroyed. Missing out on bowling wasn't that bad, I
could always go over the weekend with my friends but my sister's
words. . . those cut deep. I feel them to this day. It wasn't the
first time she said she hates me, that was actually a daily
statement, but up till this point I ignored it. Played it off as her
unusual rage and anger which always seemed to be present with her.
That day, however, I realized how much she really, truly hated me.
There I was, made to feel like the outsider at a party by my own
sister. I sat there and watched everyone enjoy themselves. I was left
alone at the table with empty pizza plates and drinks as everyone
else, adults included, bowled.
It was from that point on I realized
how much of a shitty person I was, or rather believed I was. My own
family hated me, and in my brainwashed state people weren't hated for
no reason. So this had to be all my fault. I now know that it wasn't
my fault my family treated me like the purple sheep with a mock-hawk
and piercings in the family. It was them. A bunch of narcissistic
control freaks. They are insecure about themselves, and all the
craziness of the things going on around them, they needed to put
someone down. That someone happened to be. I was the easy target,
easy to blame, easy to shame, and easy to abuse. I realize this now
because I'm healing, my mental state is improving, but it still
hurts. The pain is there, and I still grieve for the close bonds I
will never have. I cry and mourn for my failed childhood dream of a
family, but honestly. . . I'm better off without them.
#SavageSister #SiblingAbuse
#QueenOfTheHouse
~Jax~
